Southfork Fury
by Jellico
Summary: S14 AU. J.R. is happily married to Vanessa, but James is determined to ruin their union. When his bad behavior nets him a hot bottom one day from a no-nonsense Clayton Farlow, James soon realizes he's created a much bigger problem for the family. No one but a Ewing is supposed to touch a Ewing, so what now? Is there any way to prevent J.R. from going after Clayton with a vengeance?


**A/N** : For those who never got around to watching the last two seasons of the original series' run, James Richard Beaumont is 20 years old and J.R.'s illegitimate firstborn son thanks to an affair with a well-bred European socialite named Vanessa. Dallas canon states that after Cally's divorce from J.R., Vanessa returns to Dallas and becomes engaged to him herself but then, in fear of his unfaithful ways, she breaks off the engagement and returns to Europe alone once again. Canon also states that Miss Ellie and her second husband, Clayton Farlow, are travelling indefinitely and that James marries J.R.'s nemesis, Michelle Stevens, just to spite his controlling father, but my story doesn't follow canon. In the following tale, J.R. and Vanessa _do_ marry and Miss Ellie and Clayton _are_ home. James is also single and living on Southfork too alongside his parents, his grandparents, his half-brother, John-Ross, and the rest of the Ewing clan. Michelle Stevens is not even mentioned, because she wasn't relevant to the story I wanted to tell.

For the Dallas purists who despise James and Vanessa and are wondering why on earth anyone would devote a fanfic to these much-reviled characters, I'm pleased that you took a chance and clicked on my submission anyway. I'm not a big fan of Vanessa myself, but I rather liked James, who was certainly easy on the eyes! I especially liked the concept behind his introduction since John Ross was taking far too long to grow up. I wrote this story years before the 2012 reboot, and at the time, I really enjoyed the idea of J.R. with a semi-grown up son who balks at being controlled by Daddy, can make his own business deals, and have his own indiscretions. Also, I love that deep Southern habit of grown men calling their fathers 'Daddy'. It tickles me like nothing else, but since John Ross and Christopher were using the term less and less, and James began using it more and more, I couldn't help but root for James to stick around big time.

Anyway, that's probably more than enough background for the casual fan, so please read on and enjoy the story if you can. ;)

 **00000**

James Richard Beaumont lay sprawled on his stomach in bed, aching in places he never thought he would. It wasn't the pain between his shoulder blades that bothered him much; he'd expected that from all the fighting he'd done even if his struggles hadn't done him a lick of good. No, it was the heat radiating from his behind that was the issue, the lingering soreness deep in his nates that just wouldn't dissipate. Never once while living with his parents in Europe had Frederick Beaumont ever done to him what Clayton Farlow just had, and thank god for that. If this is what all spankings felt like, James wasn't _ever_ going to earn himself another. He wanted to stand up in front of a mirror then push down his workout shorts to assess the damage, but he wasn't ready to see his reflection just yet – and he wouldn't be until a sniffling, red-nosed, dewy-eyed little boy wasn't sulking back at him.

Clayton.

Loving husband to Miss Ellie or not, that man deserved to be sued for what he'd done. Or at the very least, he ought to be brought up on charges, arrested by the sheriff, and then jailed for assault.

Who the hell does he think he is?

James didn't know. What he did know was that he hated Clayton right now more than he'd ever hated anyone else. Spanking was all right for little kids – if James had heard a ten-year-old mouth off to his elders the way he had himself ten minutes ago, no way would he have objected to seeing that kid get his face or his butt slapped – but James wasn't ten. He was twenty years old, going on twenty-one. He should be allowed to argue with his parents at the breakfast table as much as he wanted to, to drive his father so crazy that the man left his meal practically untouched in his haste to get to the almighty Ewing Oil.

Despite the pain in his behind, James felt a smile beginning to grow. Remembering the fury and the frustration on J.R. Ewing's face was just what he needed to make him forget the ache in his backside ... but then J.R. wasn't the only one who had been made to suffer. Vanessa Ewing had also been rendered miserable by James's incessant tirade, his insistence that his father was a lying, cheating bastard whose pathological fucking habits made him a snake unworthy of a Beaumont.

James's budding grin faded.

He hadn't meant to make his mother cry, but that's exactly what he'd done once J.R. had left. He'd hounded and ranted, selfishly unconcerned with the effect his words were having on his own mother, until the tears had suddenly fallen and Vanessa had screamed at him to leave her be. It had been a shock to James to see his normally calm and well-bred mother lose her temper like that with him, and if he had had any sense at all he would have stopped right then and there. He hadn't stopped though. He'd foolishly let the hot-blooded Texas temperament he'd inherited from his biological father take over until it was far too late to back pedal. A blushing James tried not to recall what happened next, but the persistent warmth in the seat of his shorts gave him no choice. As he clenched his bottom cheeks unconsciously, he relived it all.

Clayton and Miss Ellie storming in from the kitchen, demanding that James apologize to Vanessa.

James stubbornly refusing, even though his heart wanted to do just that. He had brazenly told his grandmother and her second husband to actually mind their own business, and then he'd made matters worse by ignoring them to yell at his mother some more.

James hadn't exactly _seen_ the point of no return when it crossed Clayton's face, but he'd sure felt the effects once it did. Within seconds of turning his back to his elders, three powerful swats had branded his backside, jutting his hips forward with their power. Before he could gather his wits or wonder how Clayton had crossed the room so quickly, he'd found himself out of the dining room and halfway up the staircase, his left arm trapped in the vice that was Clayton's strong right hand. In retrospect, there had barely been any time at all to feel embarrassment. One minute James had been downstairs facing off against his mother, and the next he was in his bedroom, draped over Clayton's knees, practically deafened by the wallops to his backside that quickly heralded the worst sting James had ever known. He had struggled of course, no way was he going to allow himself to be punished like a child without putting up a fight, but it hadn't made the slightest difference. While Clayton had scolded him from up above, the spanks to James's bottom had kept on coming, first dead center then concentrated on his sit-spots, over and over until the burn had simply grown too great. He had been sobbing for over a minute before he realized he was kicking and crying, but try as he might, there was just no squeezing the genie back in that bottle. On the heels of his tears had followed by a series of choked apologies, and only once Clayton had heard true contrition did he retire his hand and leave James alone in his room to ponder both his choices and the subsequent lesson.

Pondering anything beyond the humiliating experience he'd just suffered had been next to impossible for quite a while after Clayton's departure, but now almost an hour later, James found himself grudgingly willing to accept that maybe, just _maybe_ , he'd overstepped his bounds with his mother a little. How he would admit this to her without further loss of face, he didn't have a clue, but as he reached back to rub at the annoying sting in his bottom, he realized he'd better get a clue and quick. A soft knock to his closed bedroom door was heard, and then Vanessa herself entered the room without awaiting his permission.

Still lying face down in bed with a pillow propped under his chest, James glanced in her direction before returning his ill-tempered gaze to the wrinkled bedspread beneath him. As she sat beside him but said and did nothing else, he felt his entire face flush with color. Knowing her as he did, there was little doubt in his mind that she disapproved of the method of discipline Clayton had chosen for her son, but the fact that she hadn't rushed to his aid, and that even now was simply sitting here next to him with nary a word of consolation told James volumes about what she thought of his behavior.

Flushing still deeper, James rose from the bed to escape her but somehow couldn't move any farther than his night table. The thick silence between them was maddening. Determined to break it, he kept his gaze stubbornly fixed on the carpet, unwilling to raise his chin or to force his own brown eyes to lock onto his mother's blue ones.

"Did you call your husband and tell him what happened yet?"

"No, I didn't. Furthermore, I don't intend to."

James waited for Vanessa to elaborate and explain her reasoning, but she said nothing further and didn't move away either. Thirty seconds more of this uncomfortable quiet and James shot her an angry glance.

"You want an apology, don't you, Mother? You came up here to get one and you're not gonna leave me alone until you do get one, but I don't know if I can do that yet. Maybe you didn't raise me to behave the way I did at breakfast—"

"No, I certainly didn't," Vanessa said softly but still clearly hurt. "How could you, James? How could you treat me that way?"

"Look, Mother—"

"No, you look. I-I was humiliated, James. You humiliated me in the worst possible way. I didn't deserve to hear the things you said to me, and I certainly didn't deserve to hear them shouted at me for the entire Ewing family and their servants to witness, did I?"

James heaved a sigh and shook his head. Without meaning to, he shifted his gaze towards the door, remembering how hastily he'd come through it a scant hour before, and the instant he did, he felt his gluteal muscles contract. He hated feeling like such a naughty little boy, but he had no choice it seemed. There was only one thing left to say. "All right, Mother. I'm sorry."

"Are you? Well, I should hope so after the punishment you were given."

"Geez, do we have to keep talking about this? Because I sure don't want to."

As James turned his back to her and strode over to his closet, Vanessa stood up from the bed and followed. "Neither do I, frankly, but I intend to all the same because you thoroughly deserved to be spanked."

"No, I didn't!" James said, turning to her. "I'm almost twenty-one—"

"Indeed you are, and yet you were exceedingly impudent, behaving like a petulant child. I really can't say I fault Clayton at all for the rather old-fashioned way he took you in hand. I have never—"

"All right, already! Get off my back, will you, Mother? I told you I was sor—"

The crack of Vanessa's palm against his cheek silenced James like nothing else had all day. He spun on his heel and stalked to the door, fully intending to storm right out, but a single glance back at his mother was all it took for the wind to escape his sails. When Vanessa asked him softly to take a seat with her on the bed again so they could get to the root of the morning's unpleasantness but through a quiet and civil conversation this time, James glared at the mattress but went over nonetheless.

Vanessa settled beside him with a sigh. She studied his sulky profile a moment before reaching up to smooth his hair, her mind decided, her aristocratic chin held high.

"No more of this hostility, James. I've had more than enough of it for one day so I strongly suggest we start over. Do you agree?"

James nodded stiffly.

"I'm glad, but before we do ... first, I'd like to apologize."

"Don't bother. That slap you just gave me didn't hurt."

"I'm sure that's not true, but regardless, that's not why I wish to apologize."

"Then why do you."

"Because ... I fear I did you a disservice raising you the way I did. Perhaps if I had kept you home in Vienna more often instead of shipping you off to one boarding school after another—"

"It's not like I gave you a choice, Mother. You didn't know what to do with me. I've always been hard-headed."

Vanessa bit back a smile. "That you have, darling, but I still think I should tried to have instill more discipline in you like a Texas mother would have. Perhaps if I had applied a bit of corporal punishment to a certain spot back here over the years, what Clayton did to you an hour or so ago might not have been necessary."

As James felt a maternal pat to his still sensitive bottom, he slid off the bed once again and retreated by the window this time, his arms crossed while he frowned at the sunny view. "Yeah, it's just too bad your new 'husband' doesn't agree."

"Do I detect a tinge of bitterness?"

"Well, don't you think the great J.R. Ewing should've been the one to rein me in today? Just when the hell is my daddy going to start acting like my father instead of just my sperm donor?"

"James!"

"Well, when is he, Mother?"

Whatever Vanessa might have replied was forgotten by all as Clayton Farlow re-entered the room.

"Maybe when you stop acting like a selfish, spoiled little boy, James, and start thinking like a man," he said. Turning to Vanessa, Clayton offered her an apologetic smile. "Would you excuse us, please? I think my grandson and I need to talk this out and finish clearing the air."

James objected, but his wishes were not respected. After a soft smile for her son and a pat to Clayton's arm, Vanessa was gone, closing the door softly after her. The moment the door snicked shut, James set his jaw and turned back to the window.

"I'm not your grandson, _Mr. Farlow_."

Clayton made his way to the bed then took a seat on the corner. "To me you are, James, especially after our time together this morning."

"So what now? You came to 'bond' some more, is that it? Are you back for part two?"

"No, I can't imagine that you'd need another dust up so soon."

"Well good, old man, because I'm not _ever_ letting you touch me again, you got me?"

Given James's age, a certain measure of sarcasm Clayton was willing to tolerate, but downright disrespect he certainly was not. He rose from the bed and marched over to James where he clamped a strong hand on the boy's arm. "You keep up that attitude, young man, and we'll both see just how short 'never' can be. Now do _you_ get _me_?" As James colored from the rebuke but wisely said nothing more despite the vein pulsing in his neck, Clayton let him go. "Now listen to me, son. I came up here because you and I have not exactly grown close since you and your mother moved onto Southfork, and this morning's confrontation sure didn't help any."

James couldn't help himself. "You think?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do." Clayton narrowed his gaze but decided not to chide the boy for his sarcasm. "I've been a busy man with your grandmother, and you, well, a more independent, mule-headed little cuss I don't think I've ever met."

"Now hold on a minute! I'm not that bad—"

"Oh yes, you are, James, but I have fair notion as to why that is, so I'm trying not to hold it against you anymore than I already have." Clayton paused to soften his tone. "Listen, son, you remind me a lot of my boy Dusty when he was your age, which is why I took you over my knee this morning. I did to you exactly what I've done to him a time or two whenever he got too big for his britches."

"Hey, I was _not_ getting—"

"You were and you know it."

"Says you."

As James persisted in glowering at him, Clayton glowered right back. "Look, we can either get past this morning's incident and talk—"

"You're kidding, right?" James barked a laugh, then sauntered across the room to his dresser where he turned back and curled his lip. "You spanked me, _Grandpa_ , and I'm not your kid! You don't love me and I sure as hell don't love you. What makes you think I can get past what you did to me long enough for us to talk about _anything_ besides how I feel about you right now?"

"Ah, so you hate me, is that it?"

"You bet I do!"

Clayton nodded as though he'd expected that. "And would that be more or less than you hate J.R.?"

James worked his jaw. "You're wrong. I don't hate my father."

"Unless I miss my guess, right about now you do," Clayton said. "You hate him for not being the parent you imagined he'd be, and you especially hate him for not being there this morning, leaving the field wide open for me."

"That's bull. You don't know anything about me and you know even less about my father."

"Don't I?" Clayton smiled at the notion but wasn't bothered in the least by James's hot-headed and ignorant retort. He walked over to the fuming young man then laid a warm hand on this shoulder. "I know it's high time you and I had a heart-to-heart talk about fathers and sons – like what you can expect from yours and when you might be better served turning to me or your Uncle Bobby. You want to hear it?"

James looked past him at the hallway, which might as well have been a football field's distance away for all the good it was doing him right now, and then he looked back at Clayton. The man wasn't only taller. He was wider, stronger, faster _and_ more stubborn, especially when he slipped into "daddy mode" like he was doing this very minute. Knowing he was beat and not liking it one bit, James pushed out his lower lip. "Do I have a choice ... _Grandpa_?"

Clayton squeezed his neck good-naturedly as he led him toward the bed. "Not really, but I promise you this talk'll be a lot less painful than our last one."

 **00000**

It was after eleven o'clock when Clayton finally decided James had received enough parental advice for one day, so after a clap on the back followed by a quick rumple of the young man's straight brown hair, the retired rancher and oilman brought his last point to a close and then quietly took his leave.

James was conflicted as he watched him go. He resented the affection he'd just received almost as much as he hated the discipline that had preceded it hours before, but he also craved more of both and he didn't understand why. With his brow knitted in concentration, he had just flopped face down in bed to try and figure it out when a pajama-clad John Ross burst into the room then scrambled up beside him with an enormous grin.

"Boy, did you get it this morning!"

James looked up at his little brother and frowned.

"I don't know what you're talking about, John Ross. Nothing happened to me this morning."

"Oh yes, it did," the eleven-year-old insisted with a smirk. "I may be sick, but I'm not delirious anymore. My fever broke last night, so you know what that means?"

James cursed in his head as he felt his entire face flush. He wished he'd remembered this morning that his kid brother was home with a cold rather than long gone to school. If he'd had an inkling Clayton was going to spank his butt with Little Brother right next door listening in, he might have thought better of pitching a fit at the breakfast table.

"C'mon, James! D'you know what that means?"

"Yeah," James groused. "It means you heard. Yippee for you."

"Did I ever!" John-Ross bounced once then flopped down on his back beside his big brother. He laced his fingers behind his head. "Boy, I bet you got the worst spanking in the whole history of Texas," he stated with wonder. "Too bad Christopher missed it."

"Yeah, well, Christopher didn't miss much because I didn't get a spanking. I'm practically twenty-one, remember. I'm too old for those."

"Too old or not, that's exactly what you got."

"No, I didn't," James lied. "I got ... paddled. There's a difference."

Sitting back up with a smug grin, John Ross suddenly peeled down the back of his brother's workout shorts. "There's only a difference if Clayton actually used a paddle on you, and it doesn't look like he did."

James slapped his brother's hands away then yanked his shorts back into place. "Quit it, John Ross!"

"Well, did he?"

"No, he used his hand, you nosy little brat!" _Thank God._

"And did you get it over his knee?" John Ross persisted.

James blushed harder than ever, remembering all too well the childish position in which Clayton had pinned him. "So what if I did?"

"So that means you got a spanking just like I did once when I was eight. Except _I_ got mine from Daddy."

As John Ross's bright blue eyes gleamed in satisfaction, James scowled harder at the unmitigated delight on his brother's young face. "You know, you're being a real pain right now, John Ross. Good kid brothers aren't supposed to be so gleeful when their older brothers get in trouble."

"That's not true," John Ross said with a smirk, "and even if it is, too bad." Leaning forward again to steal a poke at the two muscular mounds only inches away, the pre-teen kept his gaze trained on James's face to catch any shift in his expression. "Did that still hurt?"

"No."

"Then why aren't you sitting up?"

James shot his brother a dark look but obliged him nonetheless by turning over and scooting upright so his back rested against the headboard. "You happy now?"

John Ross wrinkled his nose. He studied James thoughtfully for a moment then declared, "You know, you set a record today. No one's ever been punished by Clayton on Southfork before."

"So?"

"So I bet Daddy'll have a fit when he finds out."

"No, he won't, 'cause I'm not gonna tell him and neither are you."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"No way." John Ross shifted his weight on the bed, his brow furrowed. "That's not fair. Why shouldn't I tell him when he gets home tonight?"

"'Cause I'm older'n you and I'm telling you not to."

The eleven-year-old jutted out his chin. "Well, too bad then 'cause I _have_ to tell. I don't want Clayton thinking he can spank me next when Daddy's not around."

"Who says he will? If he hasn't done it yet, he's probably not going to."

"Probably isn't good enough for me," John Ross said, "so I'm telling. Daddy'll make sure Clayton doesn't ever lay a finger on me after I tell him what happened to _you_ today. He doesn't like anyone hurting his kids."

James let out a snort. "So I've heard before, but you know what'll happen if you snitch, don't you?"

"What?"

"He'll freak out on Clayton and they'll hate each other even more than they already do. Is that what you want? More stress and strife in this house?"

John Ross pondered the possibility for all of five seconds before he shrugged. "No, I guess not, but I'm still not changing my mind. I like Clayton, he's a pretty good grandpa, but I don't want him thinking he can punish me like he did you. If he thinks it's okay to spank someone your age, what chance do I have when I'm not even twelve yet?"

"That's some logic, little brother."

John Ross smirked anew and scooted off the bed to head for the door. "Hey, I heard you crying before, so I'd rather Clayton got kicked off Southfork forever than have him spank me as hard as he did you. And you want the same thing too, I bet."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah, right. I'm hungry. See ya!"

James was hungry too now that he thought of it, but he wasn't about to join his little brother in the kitchen where they could continue this humiliating conversation within earshot of the family's servants.

Braddock it was then.

J.R. was surely expecting at the Ewing Oil offices, even if half the work day was gone already, but too bad. A ride into the closest town for a steak, lots of beer and maybe the friendly company of a barmaid or two sounded mighty good to James's bruised ego, so he got his butt in gear. He climbed out of bed, changed his clothes, snatched up his motorcycle keys, and then rode the hell off Southfork.

 **00000**

By five-thirty that afternoon, James felt a lot less tense than he had at breakfast, even if he hadn't hung around the bar in town as long as he'd assumed he would. A meal and a couple of beers were all he needed apparently, since he'd left as soon as he'd got both then spent the afternoon riding his bike in and around Braddock. With so many hours alone to ponder Clayton's advice – and then finally to accept it – the resentment and frustration he'd been feeling for months were largely gone. Now, for the first time since his parents' marriage, James was actually looking forward somewhat to seeing his father during pre-dinner cocktails.

He parked his motorcycle out of sight in the oversized garage then went straight up to his room for a shower. By the time he came downstairs again, the house was mostly empty. James toured both floors until he found his mother in her boudoir where she told him there would be no cocktails with the family today: Bobby and Christopher were in Dallas, taking in a movie and supper, and Miss Ellie and Clayton were also out of the house, following Bobby's and Christopher's example. The only family members left were themselves along with John Ross, and Vanessa wouldn't be present for much longer either since she, too, planned to have dinner downtown with J.R. once he returned home in an hour or so to collect her.

To the news, James had no comment. He pecked his mother on the cheek, blessed her with the first genuine smile he'd offered anyone in weeks, and then visited John-Ross down the hall to kill time. The youngster was having supper in bed, so James kept him company until he was finished then proposed they play a board game instead of cards. John Ross was all for that, so while they played Labyrinth and tried to top one another describing the creepiest things they'd ever seen while visiting the castle dungeons of England, James kept an eye on the clock and kept his ears tuned for the arrival of their father.

He didn't dare make it obvious to his kid brother that this was what he was doing, because he knew exactly what would happen then. Sick or not, John Ross would charge down the stairs ahead of him, run to J.R. and completely exaggerate the morning's events, a move that would precipitate all-out war within the family. Well, no way did James want that to happen. If he could just talk to his dad first – _in private_ – he was sure that he could relay the bare bones of what Clayton had done to him after breakfast with a minimum of drama. And If Clayton didn't come off sounding like a brute, maybe there was a chance J.R. Ewing would forgive and forget.

James could hope anyway.

A half-hour later, he glanced at the alarm on John Ross's nightstand again, read the time and decided he'd better make a discreet exit. At nearly six-thirty, it wouldn't be much longer before their father arrived home to collect his wife.

"Listen, little brother, you mind if we pick this up tomorrow? I didn't go in to the office today, so I'd better get some work done tonight before Daddy fires me from Ewing Oil."

John-Ross shook his head with a smirk. "He'd never do that, James. He needs you there until I'm old enough to join and take over."

"Come on. You mind?"

"Nah. I guess it's all right."

"Thanks." James reached out and cuffed him playfully then headed straight for the door. "Get some rest, okay? You need to hurry up and get better so we can go four-wheeling again."

John-Ross agreed wholeheartedly while he settled back into his pillows, but James barely heard his response. He shut the boy's bedroom door then jogged down the hall, down the stairs, and out onto the back patio, eager to greet his father the moment the man drove up.

His timing was close to perfect.

Mere seconds after he stepped outside, the Ewing 3 Mercedes pulled into the driveway and J.R. parked then stepped out. The moment he saw his firstborn son, however, his facial expression soured.

"Good God, boy. Don't tell me you've been waiting all day to ambush me just so you can try and finish the argument you started this morning."

"No, of course not. That's over with."

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me—"

As J.R. stepped around him, James moved to block his path. "Not yet, Daddy. I have something to say first."

"Well, save it for later, son. If it's an apology, you can tell me tomorrow, and if it's not, then I really don't want to hear it. I'm taking my wife out to dinner tonight and you are definitely not invited. One disastrous family meal a day is about all I can take, so don't wait up for your mama and me. We're gonna be late."

"Well, you aren't gone yet, so why can't we just talk a minute?"

"Because I am not interested. Now get out of my way, son."

As J.R. ploughed past him like he wasn't even there, James stumbled back two steps but didn't let that stop him. The moment he recovered his footing, he was right on J.R.'s heels, following him into the house.

"I mean it, Daddy. This can't wait."

"Not now, boy." Like he did every evening, J.R. dumped his briefcase and his ten-gallon hat on the table in the vestibule then headed straight for the liquor in the family room. "And would you quit tagging after me like a hound dog trailing his master?"

"Well, I wouldn't _have_ to if you'd just stand still and listen to me with an open mind for once! Now are you gonna hear me out or what?"

J.R. refused to respond. He poured himself a bourbon on the rocks and took a sip, but couldn't bring himself to enjoy it with his twenty-year-old son right there at his side, pressuring him with his silence. He forced himself to take another swallow then glanced at James in annoyance.

"Just what the hell do I have to do to get rid of you, boy?"

"Oh, I don't know. How about you quit being an ass for a change and try being a father. Now I said I needed to talk to you, and I'm gonna whether you want me to or not."

J.R. cut him a sharper glance but didn't set aside his drink. "You know, someday I'm gonna have to do something about the ill-mannered tone you use with me night and day, son. What you need is a long, hard Texas tanning like my daddy used to give me whenever I stepped out of line."

James blushed hard as he suddenly felt the need to study the carpet. "Not anymore I don't."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I can tell you what it means, Daddy!" Before James could respond to his father's question, a grinning John-Ross charged into the room with his robe flapping behind him and plopped down into the closest love seat. "You wanna hear?"

"Tell me, son."

"No!" James glared at his little brother. "Butt out, John Ross!"

Of course, John Ross wouldn't, and he smirked at his older brother before grinning up at their father. "It means James already got a spanking, a big one from Clayton this morning right over his knee and everything!"

 _"What?!"_

"It's true! James was bawling for ages while he was getting it, Dad; the whole house could hear 'im. I didn't think Clayton was ever going to stop!"

"I said butt out, John Ross!" James marched over to his tattletale of a brother to get him and shut him up for good, but the preteen had no intentions of letting that happen. He leapt up still grinning, ran to J.R. and hid behind him, leaving James to come to an abrupt halt, frustrated and impotent. One glance into J.R.'s darkening face though, and James knew he had to forget his annoying kid brother for the moment. "Look, Daddy, never mind what John Ross told you. It was no big deal."

"It doesn't sound like it was," J.R. snapped. "Tell me what happened, boy, and tell me right now."

With all eyes on him, James shrugged, trying to look casual in an effort to downplay what happened. "It's nothing, okay? I was just in a bad mood this morning and Clayton didn't care for my attitude."

"So he just took a strap to you in front of everyone?!"

"No! It's just ... it's just that after you left in the middle of breakfast, I kept hounding Mother about how unfaithful you're probably going to be, and I wouldn't let up this time. She got real upset about it and Clayton got on my case for it, so naturally I got on his."

"And then what?"

"And then I guess I stepped over the line with him." James shot his father a pointed look. "He's even more old-fashioned than _you_ are, so it didn't take much for him to grab my arm and pull me upstairs to my room—"

J.R. practically purpled. _"Are you telling me that Clayton Farlow manhandled a son of mine and then hit him on top of that?"_

John-Ross poked his head out from behind J.R. "He sure did, Daddy!"

"No, he didn't." James gave his kid brother a glare that promised retribution later then turned to their father. "He didn't _hit me_ hit me ... he just sorta slapped my butt a little until I learned some respect."

"I don't care how long he spanked you, James. He shouldn't have touched you at all!"

J.R. knocked back the last of his bourbon then crossed the room in an instant. One glance at the smug I-told-you-so expression on John-Ross's face and James sprang into action, hurrying after J.R. who was more than halfway to the front staircase. The man was clearly intent on heading up to the master bedroom that Miss Ellie shared with her second husband, so James picked up the pace until he was ahead of his father and could block his path.

"Hold up there, Daddy. Clayton's not even here."

A fuming J.R. halted at the base of the stairs _._ "What do you mean he's not here? Where the hell is he then?"

"It doesn't matter where he is 'cause you need to calm down first."

"I asked you a question son, now answer me."

"I don't know where he is, all right? He took Miss Ellie to supper somewhere." As J.R. made no reply but simply snatched up the phone that always sat on the table by the curving staircase, James watched him in exasperation. "Now what're you doing?"

J.R. stabbed at the keypad, dialing the number for the Oil Baron's. "I'm hunting that bastard down is what I'm doing, son. And when I find him he's going to wish he never, ever left that dump of a ranch he had in San Angelo."

Right away James jerked the handset from his grip. "No way, Daddy."

 _"Give me that phone, James."_

"I said no. Forget it!"

A delighted John-Ross joined them by the stairs and soaked up the confrontation, but J.R. barely noticed the gleeful presence of his youngest son. Instead, he looked at his firstborn like he'd taken permanent leave of his senses.

"James, are you out of your mind?" he demanded. "Have you forgotten what Clayton did to you this very morning?"

"Are you kidding?" James fired back. "Of course, I didn't forget. It was my butt that got whacked like a five-year-old's!"

"Then why are we on opposite sides about this, son? That meddlesome, good-for-nothing outsider tanned your hide like you were his no-account brat, Dusty. I don't know what the hell makes him think he can replace me as your daddy, but I am here to tell you that he is wrong and he needs to learn different right quick. And I'm going to make _sure_ he learns that lesson real well before the week is over, or my name isn't J.R. Ewing. Nobody – and I mean nobody – corrects my sons but me, and nobody touches a Ewing except a Ewing. Clayton clearly forgot that but he won't ever again by the time _I'm_ through with him!"

J.R. reached for the handset once more but James refused to give it back. "You're unbelievable, you know that, Daddy?"

 _"James, give me that phone."_

"No. I won't. And you wanna know why? It's because you're making a mountain out of a molehill and you know it. What's the big deal with what Clayton did to me? _You_ sure didn't stick around long enough this morning to do it, and it's not like I wasn't crying out for it. Besides, I didn't tell you all this so you could go gunning for my grandpa."

"So why did you tell me?" J.R. demanded. "And just what the hell do you mean referring to that man as your 'grandpa'? Clayton Farlow is _not_ your granddaddy, boy. He never was and he never will be; I don't care how long he stays married to your grandmother."

"Well, he's the only one I know and I like him!" James fired back. "And anyway, I only told you what he did because my big mouth of a little brother here basically blabbed to you first. The second John Ross did that, I knew there was gonna be bloodshed unless you heard my side too."

As James detached the handset from the phone then stubbornly took it with him into the family room, J.R. stalked right after him.

"Well, your side of things is completely irrelevant to this situation, son, and you should know that without me telling you. I have _never_ let anyone get away with laying a finger on a Ewing, and I'm certainly not about to start now with the likes of Clayton Farlow!"

"You know what, Daddy? You're right. I should've known you'd react this way no matter what I said, but that doesn't make it acceptable."

"Oh really? Well, was it _acceptable_ for that man to swat your bottom over his knee like you were four?"

"No, but it's not _acceptable_ either for you to go gunning for him just because of me, not after the way I've been acting."

"James—"

At the bar, James stopped to face his father head on. "I deserved to get my butt tanned today, Daddy. You know I did. If you think about it, I've been asking for it ever since you married my mother and I moved back in to protect her from you and your lying, cheating ways. Now, I won't say that I didn't hate getting spanked like a kid while it was happening, but you know what I hated even more? That _you_ weren't the one to do it."

There was no misunderstanding the criticism implied in that statement, but J.R. Ewing was not about to feel guilty for the type of father he was, always had been and most probably always would be. As John Ross quietly slipped into the room, his eyes shifting eagerly from father to brother, J.R. offered a humorless smile to his ever-critical firstborn son.

"Well, James, I suggest you be careful what you wish for, because now that you've proven to me you'll take a trip to the woodshed with just about anyone, there'll be no stopping me the next time I decide you'd benefit from exactly that. Now, are you going to put that phone back together so I can use it, or am I going to have to use the one in my car?"

Materializing just then in the doorway, the family's maid, Teresa, spoke up.

"Excuse me, Mr. Ewing. Mrs. Ewing said to tell you she'll be down in a moment."

J.R. glanced her way briefly. "All right. Tell her I'll be waiting outside." As Teresa excused herself with a "yes sir", J.R. returned his attention to James. "That phone had better be in working order by the time I get back tonight with your mama, y'hear?"

James shook his head as he looked at his departing father. "This was a total waste of time, wasn't it, me trying to talk to you?"

At the patio door, J.R. turned back. "Maybe you didn't hear me the first time, son, so I'll say it again: nobody lays a finger on you or John Ross but me. I won't stand for it. You're my boy, not Clayton's, and he's not ever going to forget that again."

The moment J.R. left, John Ross looked up in smug satisfaction at his frustrated older brother.

"Told you Clayton's history. Nobody hurts a Ewing and gets away with it, not once our daddy finds out…"


End file.
